Radschool

Newsletter

Vol 6

Page 7

Picture this!.

You’re standing on the ocean beach about half way up Bribie Island. You’re in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and you’ve got a beach rod in your hands. It’s about 2.30pm on the first Sunday in June, the sun is shining, it’s about 21⁰C, the water is dead calm and warm, your 4WD is up on the dry sand, and you’ve got a good size flat-head in the bucket (eat your heart out Spacky).

Way to the north you see a large aircraft heading your way, it’s only about 500ft AGL, and just out over the breakers. After a while you notice the familiar black clouds trailing each of its 4 engines, and then it comes into view. It’s one of 36Sqn’s Hercs out on manoeuvres. They’ve got it throttled way back, and as it rumbles over head at a speed that makes you wonder how the hell it stays up there you see a bunch of blokes hanging out the back door enjoying the view, and they give you a wave. Then it’s gone, and as it heads down the beach and turns left out towards Morton Island you see the sun gleaming on the back of those 4 huge spinning props. Isn’t there something about the look and sound of a big aeroplane with propellers? 

Bloody marvellous!

Point Cook.

Our mention last issue of the Point Cook Operations Ltd association (PCOL) brought in a few letters.  If you remember, the PCOL want to try and stop the Minister from disposing of Point Cook, and instead preserve it and develop the museum on the base into a first class aviation military museum. From the letters we received, it looks like they might have missed the boat. One such letter went on to say:-

 “I was recently at both Laverton and Point Cook, and I can tell you that you would not recognise the place, particularly the road to Point Cook. About where the salt works used to be, on the city side of the road, is now the exclusive Greg Norman Sanctuary Marina with its first class golf course. I am not sure if the marina has bay access but I suspect it does as all the houses look very expensive. On the other side of the road which used to be open grazing paddocks is now “St Andrews of Point Cook”.  There is some really big money being spent here, and it doesn’t look like stopping.

Diane Hubner, yours and Jenny Wren at Pt Cook.      Memories…………………..

The airfields on both bases are no longer used by the RAAF.  The Point Cook one is now used by RMIT for civil flying training and Laverton is used for motor vehicle testing and advanced driver training (can you believe that!!). The only RAAF unit still operating on Point Cook is the Officer Training School as the School of Language was moved to Laverton some time ago.  Both are open bases and you can drive straight in, no more guards. There is an excellent RAAF Museum at Point Cook that is well worth a visit, I think it definitely has to be preserved.

We received this poem from a friend by way of email. It was reportedly written by a terminally ill young girl from her hospital bed in New York. We think it’s worth sharing with you.

SLOW DOWN

Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round?

Or listened to the rain slapping on the ground?

Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight?

Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?

You better slow down - don't dance so fast,

Time is short, the music won't last.

Do you run through each day on the fly?

When you ask "How are you?" do you hear the reply?

When the day is done do you lie in your bed?

With the next hundred chores running through your head.

You'd better slow down - don't dance so fast,

Time is short, the music won't last.

Ever told your child, we'll do it tomorrow?

And in your haste, not see his sorrow?

Ever lost touch, let a good friendship die?

Cause you never had time to call and say "Hi".

You'd better slow down, don't dance so fast,

Time is short, the music won't last.

When you run so fast to get somewhere,

You miss half the fun of getting there.

When you worry and hurry through your day,

It is like an unopened gift....thrown away.

Life is not a race. Do take it slower,

Hear the music before the song is over.

114 MCRU.

Grahame Venn tells the story of a bloke who was at 114MCRU at Amberley (it’s now in Darwin) way back in 1969-73 by the name of Garry Cox, who every-one called Sam. For those not familiar with 114MCRU—the MCRU bit stands for Mobile Control and Reporting Unit which is a tactical radar unit used for fighter intercepts.

In the early 70’s, the unit stood on a rise on the old Wooloon Road about a mile from Amberley. It  consisted of a number of air-transportable cabins and an inflatable radome balloon about 30 feet in diameter. The 'dome used to be painted that brown camouflage colour and was as hot as hell inside despite some attempts at air-conditioning which we were told was just for the equipment's comfort! The balloon was eventually painted white and took on the resemblance of a large golf ball. The equipment we used to monkey with was a curious mix of WW2 and 70's technology - valves alongside cmos. It was a great training radar for us baggy bums and the great pity was that those bloody operators always wanted to use it! But back to Sam.

Sam was a “singley” and lived on the base. At the time a girl in Brisbane had him securely by the short and curlies, thus depriving him of most of his spare time. It became common-place to see Sam dead on his feet with dark rings under his eyes due to the late nights and the long drives back to Amberley in the wee hours.

One day, Sam was a little bit worse from wear than usual. Seems the previous night he was driving back to base, worn out and dog tired as was the norm, and after passing through Ipswich he decided he just couldn’t go any further and it was time to pull over for a quick snooze. He stopped on the bend near the cemetery (Amberley blokes will know where that is), curled up in the front seat and nodded off. The next thing he remembers is hearing a loud noise and he’s sitting bolt upright clutching the steering wheel, instantly wide awake from a deep sleep. Looking straight ahead with eyes now like saucers, and a heart doing a million miles an hour, all he could see out front were tombstones in the glare of headlights. Terrified that he had gone to sleep and run off the road, he starts screaming and swings the wheel from side to side with his right foot jammed hard on the brake peddle, trying desperately to dodge the obstacles in front.

It’s only after a few minutes that he realises the noise and lights were from a truck coming up behind him while he was sleeping in the car—safely stopped on the side of the road.